


Before the Script Was Flipped

by AngeliaDark



Series: The Swapfell Script [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell, Fontcest, Gaster Was Kind Of a Shit Dad, M/M, Papyrus Has Depression, Sans Has Barely-Contained Anger Issues, prologue of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9345803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeliaDark/pseuds/AngeliaDark
Summary: Prologue to Flipping the Script by mildly-popular request.What were the brothers like before everything happened?  What brought them to the point where the script on their lives had to be flipped?  Let's find out.





	1. Part One

Dedicated to [xladymalice](http://xladymalice.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  She continues to be a great source of inspiration and idea-shooting for Swapfell!

* * *

 

 

Growing up in the Underground wasn't always easy, but for the most part, it was bearable.

It was common to see children dashing around and playing out of range of the working adults, who groused at their lost childhoods but were thoughtful enough to let children be children. They would earn their keep in this world when they grew older, soon enough. Sometimes a good transition into adulthood stemmed from the kick-in-the-ass that came with trading in striped shirts for a career ID card.

Although, not all children had that normal childhood. Some learned about the hard knocks of life the hard way, most often from being orphaned at a young age and having to fend for themselves if no one was kind enough to take them in.

Or sometimes, children just had very big shoes to fill before they were even of school age.

An elderly retired Guardsman would see two such children every day he had to watch them while their father was at work, often lamenting at the future the two would one day have to deal with. Today was another one of those days, watching the tall, imposing form of Royal Guard Captain W.D. Gaster trek to his post with two children in tow.

The Great Hero, the Slayer of 10,000 Humans, the Sword of the Throne, and a man whose respect reached levels only the monarchy brought, and the retired Monster could only feel pity for the two boys the elder Skeleton had spawned, although for different reasons.

The elder brother, young Sans, was leading his younger by the hand, although it seemed a superfluous gesture, considering the younger brother was almost as tall as he was. But that was less due to little Papyrus's height, and more to Sans's. At twelve years old, Sans was a source of shame and pity to have come from such an imposing Monster as Captain Gaster.

A runt, a 1 HP-handicapped excuse of a Monster that some crueler folks thought would have been better dusted at birth, Sans always walked behind his father with his head lowered, burdened by his own bad hand that life had dealt him. Few bothered with him, and even fewer knew him, and the old Monster often wondered if Captain Gaster did either.

The old Monster knew Sans, had almost raised the boy himself outside of Captain Gaster's influence, and knew of Sans's strengths, rather than the boy's weaknesses. Sans was highly intelligent, reading since he was three and doing sums a year after. Twelve years old, and he was already reading through physics with serious thought as to making it a career someday.

It was all he could aspire to, considering his handicaps.

It wasn't for lack of trying, however. Many in the Guard had an inside joke of 'Bring Your Kid to Work Day' when Captain Gaster would use his designated breaks to do preemptive training with his boys. Most seemed it cruel to include Sans in these training sessions, considering the boy's pathetic stats. What Sans lacked in physical endurance, however, he had a decent control over magic and a quick mind for decision-making.

Even so, the Captain's standards were not easily reached, and little by little the elder Skeleton instead turned his attentions to his second son.

Papyrus was a prodigy warrior; everyone knew it and nobody bothered to sugarcoat it. Even from a very young age, the young Skeleton was picking up offensive and defensive magic, proving gifted with strategy, and showing more talent and promise for the Guard than everyone had anticipated. He even managed to impress the King while the monarch was making a routine walk-through, showing up even ranked Guardsmen in target practice at the tender age of six.

It was around that time that Captain Gaster geared most of his attention toward Papyrus and training him to be a future Guardsman.

It was bitter, albeit humorous irony, that the prodigy had almost ZERO drive when it came to that career path.

The years went by, and Papyrus's interest began waning in the Guard; as a child, he had thought his time with his father was a game, but as he grew older he became aware that it was more of an investment. Runs and spars became chores instead of fun, and he eventually refused to be trained anymore, despite the browbeating and arguments his father berated on him.

Sans HATED those arguments. Although he had been spared suffocation under his father's shadow, he still had to suffer through the house being screamed down for when Papyrus didn't show up for school, or when Papyrus was caught smoking, or when Gaster had to—yet again—be called out somewhere because of whatever else Papyrus decided to meddle around in that he shouldn't.

It was enough to make Sans weep, when he finally passed the exam to be in the labs; the head of the departments, Dr. Gerson, was impressed by his work, and Sans was given a trial period to prove his worth.

Sans stayed in the labs as often as he could, unable to handle the toxicity of home. But when he WAS at home, it ALWAYS seemed to be when things were going the worst.

“You are WASTING your potential!” his father's voice boomed from downstairs one evening, another song and dance, copy-paste spiel Sans could probably recite in his sleep by now. “It's INFURIATING, Papyrus! That's ALL there is to it!”

“What do you care how I live my life!?” Papyrus snapped back, his voice almost dulled from how often he'd had to stand up to this argument. “And don't bring up the stupid 'reputation' crap! I'm SICK of it! I don't even CARE if you're the Great Hero of the stupid War! I'm NOT YOU!”

“You could be BETTER than me!” Gaster argued. “EVERYONE agrees you could! Even I'm not proud enough to deny it! But all you do is skip school, loiter around Waterfall, do illicit shit with those damn Dogs, and I'M the one who has to bail you out!”

There was a beat of silence, and Sans could practically envision his father massaging his temples tiredly as Papyrus groused back near the stairs, ready to barricade himself in his rooms after all this.

“...the absolute worst part of that War, Papyrus, was seeing the bulk of your race being eradicated because good, strong Monsters didn't want to use their potential until it was too late.” Sans perked up at this part, having not recalled it in the previous arguments. “The bulk of our SPECIES, gone, because they were too caught up in their own isolationist agendas. I took up arms and I gave it my all, and I was damn lucky to escape to the Underground alive. And with humans falling down here from time to time, we never know when one will be hostile enough to do serious damage.

“Most Monsters don't have a FRACTION of the ability to change the tide of battle like you do, Papyrus. And you're getting much too old to be spending your days in nothing but reckless frivolity. Even your brother has made use of his talents, and he's—“

“He's not weak,” Papyrus piped up, the edge coming back to his voice. “He kept up when we were kids, he's strong enough to hold his own. At least he doesn't have to constantly flaunt his ability just to get some respect.”

“And what is THAT supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what. You're ALWAYS in your armor, and you're ALWAYS armed with your stupid sword. You think anyone would even CARE if you took off your armor? It's nothing but showy showboating that doesn't mean ANYTHING anymore—!”

Sans flinched when a sharp crack resounded through the house, hugging his pillow to him tightly and praying Papyrus didn't exacerbate it any further, knowing that one good way to ensure punishment was to dishonor the Guard, or disrespect the armor.

There was no yelling after, but Gaster's voice still carried up to Sans's room. “If you had any modicum of pride, you would understand. But ignorance and peace is wasted on the youth.” A long beat of silence. “Go. I don't want to look at you anymore.”

Sans stared at his door, hearing Papyrus walk up the stairs and into his bedroom, his door shutting behind him. Downstairs, Sans heard the front door open and his father leave, and then suffocating silence.

He sighed, shutting his book and creeping out of his room and over to Papyrus's door, knocking lightly. “...Paps?” he acknowledged. “Can I come in?”

A few seconds of silence later, Papyrus answered, “Sure.”

Sans walked in, shutting the door behind him and walking over to Papyrus, who was sitting wedged in the corner of his bed with his knees pulled to his rib cage and his arms resting on them. If Sans hadn't heard the argument, he'd have just thought his brother was sulking. The bruise on Papyrus's cheekbone said otherwise.

Sans sighed, wordlessly sitting next to Papyrus and taking his brother's skull in his hands, letting his magic trickle out to heal the bruise. Papyrus let him, not making eyelight contact through the process, and the two remained silent several minutes after. Finally, Sans spoke up.

“....Paps...as much of a dick move as this may seem...Dad's right.”

Papyrus's arms tightened around his knees, his expression darkening. “Not you too,” he muttered. “Sans, I can't deal with this crap right now—“

“Well maybe you SHOULD!” Sans cut in, his voice going hard. “Papyrus, I love you more than life itself, but believe me when I tell you that nobody wants to see your potential flourish more than me.” He held up a hand when Papyrus made a move to speak. “I don't care about family reputation or any of that. I care about YOU. I look at you and I see someone who can have all the respect and admiration you could desire, even to an extent Dad couldn't even attain.”

He hugged Papyrus around the shoulders. “You're great, Papyrus...ever since you were a little kid, you've been great.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Papyrus's skull. “I just wish you thought you were great too.”

Papyrus scowled. “I'm NOT!” he snapped, wiping at his damp eye sockets. “Everyone just THINKS I am—!” He let out a yelp when Sans shoved him against the wall by the shoulders, almost hitting his skull. Sans glowered at Papyrus, his eyelights flickering blue as he clenched his hands into his brother's shoulders.

“You. Are. GREAT,” Sans hissed. “And I am SICK of seeing you ruin yourself like this!” He sighed, leaning back. “...I'm....sorry, Paps....I just...I want you to be proud of yourself...to know how great you really are. So you'll have the shadow, instead of standing under one.”

Sans rubbed his nasal bone, scooting off of Papyrus's bed. “.....I've got some work to do...you look like you could use some sleep. Night, Paps.” He headed out of Papyrus's room and back to his own, hoping the migraine he had wouldn't drag on.

...Oh, who was he kidding, of course it would.

* * *

 

The next morning, Sans went downstairs for coffee and saw his brother and father through the back window, sparring with one another in practice. Papyrus was getting his sacrum handed to him deep-fried and well done, but Sans's little brother continued to get up and fight on.

And Sans was proud.

It gave him something to look forward to as he slaved away in the labs, coming home to see Papyrus hard at work with his training, singlemindedly pushing himself to be stronger, faster, more powerful—

All the way into the Royal Guard.

Sans had never felt more pride, even in himself, than when Papyrus was instated into the Royal Guard, unable to stop the tears as he watched his brother kneel in front of the King and receive his armor and rank. It was even the first time Sans had seen pride on his father's face, and Sans only felt a twinge of bitterness of never having seen that look before. He understood, though.

THIS was a big deal. It wasn't nepotism that gained Papyrus the honor of being the youngest Guardsman instated in history, and everyone knew it. The other Guardsmen had personally witnessed the brutality of the training that Captain Gaster had put him through, and were personally glad that they didn't have the Captain's attentions. It was training that didn't let up once Papyrus was instated.

But they watched. They all observed as Papyrus grew taller, his bones becoming thicker and his frame broader, his magic level and brute strength becoming more powerful with each fight won, with each opponent he mercilessly took down, until one day, the day even King Asgore and Queen Toriel were in attendance during a Guardsman fighting pageant...

Papyrus took down the great Captain Gaster, leaving a scar over his right eye socket with a speared bone lance, a move that almost took the elder Skeleton's HP into the single digits.

After the initial shock died down, everyone went wild, the King and Queen personally congratulated Papyrus, and the rumor mill began circulating right away of Papyrus's apparent reach for the Captain position.

Internally, Sans scoffed at the notion. The very idea of Papyrus REALLY going up against their father was ridiculous. A pageant fight was one thing, but going all-out on both sides? Sans shuddered at the thought of having to come collect two dust piles at the end of THAT nightmare.

And regardless, life was becoming more manageable at home without all the fighting. Despite the prospect of possibly being dethroned from his position, Gaster no longer had browbeating or laments of disappointment for his sons. Papyrus left with him every day to the Guard post, and when all three were home, Sans was grateful for the amicable silence. Sans was even more grateful that his father was no longer looking at him in disappointment for working in the labs instead of the Guard.

Still...it sort of hurt.

Sans couldn't help the fact that he was born with a handicap, or that his growth was stunted. He still had his mind, if anything, and that wasn't even ALL. Despite his small stature, he had a reasonable amount of strength in his body; enough, at least, to make the lab Dogs stare in awe when he lifted up a heavy panel to help the tech people get to faulty wiring by himself.

It was a cruel irony that he had the magic and the strength potential to make his father proud, but his 1 HP handicap kept him from honing it into something of use for the Guard. Instead, it was used to move equipment.

Sans would often find himself inwardly scoffing at the idea that he should be shamed; wasn't it his father who was always saying that intellect trumped brute strength in battle? In any case, Sans was contributing to a branch of the higher government that was providing comforts and daily easement to the rest of the Underground. In a couple of years, he would be head of his apartment, and perhaps even the Head Royal Scientist.

That would earn at least a spark of respect in his father's eyelights.

* * *

.

.

.

.

Sans stood back with his brother, numb to everything, as he watched Papyrus hand the urn containing his father's dust to the King. The King's eulogy speech detailing Captain Wingdings Gaster's honors of war, contribution to the Underground, and the plans for giving him a stained glass window in the Great Hall...it all sounded like white noise buzzing in Sans's skull.

It seemed like most of the Underground had flooded to the Capitol for this, and Sans felt claustrophobic in it all. He wanted to go home and grieve in private, not stand out here listening to speech after speech of those in high standing who had something to say about the late Captain, or the rumors behind his death.

It was three days ago, and nothing seemed too out of place. Sans had been home, he heard his father and brother leave for work...and an hour later he had a hysteric phone call from Papyrus.

Sans got the story pieced together from several sources; the clerk saw Captain Gaster and Papyrus check in before they parted ways to begin the day. Papyrus later went to inquire something of his father in the Captain's office, and every Guard in the compound was summoned by his scream of horror. All that was left of Captain Gaster in the office was his armor, brimming with dust, being stared at by Papyrus.

Not three days later, and the near-unanimous conclusion was that Papyrus had dusted his own father in a bid for the rank.

 _Ridiculous_ , Sans thought bitterly, his hands clenching every time he saw his brother. Papyrus would never have done such a thing. Their father was elderly by normal Monster standards, and had been drained by the war, fatherhood, and Guardsman duties. Falling down was tricky with older Monsters, and many dusted within minutes.

Despite this being a somber occasion, Sans instead felt anger. He hadn't been emotionally close to his father since early childhood, but Papyrus's good name was being slandered, blind-eye to the one-upsmanship in the Guard be damned. And no matter what they did, no one was going to believe otherwise.

Sans stood by Papyrus after the eulogy, watching the King spread Captain Gaster's dust over the entire HQ compound and remaining silent through the rest of the ceremony where Papyrus inherited his father's badge as a keepsake. Sans only felt a twinge of resentment that he was not given a keepsake, but he smothered it down for the show, and for Papyrus's sake.

He kept by Papyrus's side through the condolences and the banquet in the Captain's honor, and on the walk home. They hadn't spoken the whole day, and neither really knew what to say to make things better. Sans quietly stood by the landing, watching Papyrus sit on the couch and stare at the badge in his hands for several long minutes before speaking up.

“....I think we should move.”

Papyrus let out a shaky sigh, nodding. “...I think so too,” he replied before breaking into sobs. Sans walked over and sat next to him, pulling his brother to him and petting his skull.

“Shhh...” he murmured softly. “....it's okay, Paps....I'm here...” He kissed his brother's cheekbone. “I'm here.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than the last one, but the next will be longer, completing this little sandwich-slice of a prequel.

It seemed a strange move for the brothers to move to Snowdin, all the way at the other end of the Underground from the labs and the Guard post, but the more empathetic Monsters could understand.

Papyrus and Sans found a house for sale in the snowy town, something that was large but comfortable, and moved in right away though unpacking was a procrastinated effort. Their own things were stashed in their own rooms and unpacked according to importance of use, but neither could find the strength or the will to touch their father's things. In time, the two unanimously—and silently—decided to put those things in the basement where they could be safe, but out of the way.

Their living arrangement was something to get used to. For the first time in their young adult lives, they were alone with hardly any idea of where to go from there. Everything was too quiet, something that was only enhanced by the heavy snow around them, making every little thing they did seem louder.

The worst of it was when Sans was trying to sleep and was alerted to the sound of sobbing coming from his brother's room. He would crawl out of bed and walk to Papyrus's room, and wait only for the briefest moment before slipping into the room and joining Papyrus in the bed to hug him and let him cry it out.

It was best done here, he would rationalize to himself. Papyrus could let the trauma of being the one to discover their father's dust pile pass here at home to be strong for the job ahead. Papyrus was safe here when he was at his weakest; Sans would not betray that trust or misuse that weakness, not ever.

Papyrus knew this too. Soon when he needed comfort, he was the one to leave his room and venture to his brother's, crawl into bed and hug Sans until he felt safe enough to give sleep another try. Sans wouldn't complain either; it was pleasant having something akin to intimacy in contrast to his emotionally-frigid childhood.

In hindsight, he thought later down the line, it might not have been the BEST of ideas, especially when he caught himself staring at his brother's broad frame whilst he was undressing, or snuggling a little TOO close while they were sleeping. He would find his hand caressing at his brother's bones, listening in to the younger's soul beats and yearning to TOUCH it...

And despite the disgust he felt within himself, he couldn't bring himself to tell Papyrus to sleep elsewhere. The only time Papyrus was fully at ease was when Sans was holding him, and Sans couldn't take that away from him.

A damn pity his own self-control was so shoddy.

But it wasn't like Papyrus made it easy. The younger would almost cocoon Sans with his own body while he slept, give Sans's skull and spine light pets, and make the softest little purring sounds of contentment, and not just when they slept. During the rare days they were home together, they would watch TV on the couch and Papyrus would cuddle him without another thought, and even fall asleep like that.

It wasn't what Sans thought, he would rationalize to himself. It was an innocent gesture. It was Papyrus indulging in the intimacy he had been denied all his life, and Sans was not so cruel as to deny it. And as hard as Papyrus was working, he deserved some warm comfort back at home.

And even worse, he felt deprived of something BECAUSE it was so innocent.

Sans kept himself home for a mental health day, knowing that his own sick thoughts would only distract him from work and a day of self-flagellation and imagining what his father would say—what he'd DO—for thinking such things was just the thing he needed to get rid of it once and for all.

He was in the middle of making himself more coffee when the front door opened and Papyrus walked in, and immediately Sans felt a shift in tone. Papyrus's aura was high-strung, his expression a mix of worried and frustrated, and he was fumbling with his armor like it was physically paining him to keep it on. Sans frowned, putting his coffee cup down and walking into the living room. “...Paps?” he said, noting how his brother jumped at being addressed. “What's wrong? Why are you home?”

Papyrus stared at him like a kid caught stealing, his hands shaking so hard his armor rattled. Sans quickly became worried when Papyrus didn't answer right away, and scrambled to find SOME reason for his brother's reaction.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did something happen? Are you in trouble?” He reached out, touching his brother's armored arm. “Tell me, Papyrus...I can help.”

Looking back on it, he realized that those were exactly the words he needed to say to his brother, even if he didn't think so at the time. At those words, his brother's posture slumped, his eyelights dilated and his fingers finally got a grip as he reached up and unlatched his breastplate, letting it drop on the floor.

Sans's senses were immediately assaulted with a heavy, citrusy musk that seeped out of his brother's bones, his own magic jolting in response—

His brother was in heat.

It made sense, he absently thought as he stared at the golden-orange glow from behind his brother's shirt; Monsters in heat were sent home to avoid being a liability—or a target. And this was his brother's FIRST heat, if memory was serving him correctly. He could remember his own, how uncomfortable and lonely it was, and how he was loathe to let it be the same for—

Oh, this was bad.

This was the exact opposite of why he needed time home. He needed to distance himself before he aaaaaaand his hand was on Papyrus's rib cage.

Papyrus purred, his bones rattling softly as his soul pulsed softly against Sans's hand, emitting an aura of trust and desire that Sans couldn't help but want to reciprocate. Sans leaned in closer, resting his head against Papyrus's sternum to listen to the pulsing beat like a siren's song he wanted to answer back.

Papyrus's arms curled around his brother, his purring getting louder as he pulled Sans closer, picking his smaller brother up and nuzzling their skulls together as he walked to the couch and reclined back on it. Sans brushed his teeth over Papyrus's cheekbone, feeling his resolve crumble away.

“...I want to help you,” he said honestly. “But...I don't want you to feel like you HAVE to—“

“Shut up, Sans,” Papyrus murmured, turning Sans's skull to face his. “I don't care what happens after. I want you NOW.”

Sans shuddered, feeling a guttural growl shudder up his neck bones as the last bit of self-control dusted, his eyelights glowing softly as he formed a tongue in his mouth, swiping it over his teeth. “Then have me,” he growled, pressing his teeth to Papyrus's.

* * *

 

Sans and Papyrus stared up at the ceiling, neither saying a word or acknowledging each other or what they had done together.

As the high came down and the pheromones settled, they both realized that they had crossed a line that they couldn't take back. In the (literal) heat of the moment, they had stripped each other down to the bare bones, fondled over one another until every inch of bone was noted and memorized, and then Sans had allowed his brother to fuck him.

No other term could do it justice; as soon as Papyrus was wired up, he had taken Sans on the couch like a beast.

Five times.

At some point, they made it upstairs to Papyrus's bedroom and had a nap before they arrived to where they were now. Staring up at the ceiling and trying to process their life choices.

“...Sans?”

Sans ran a hand over his eye sockets. “....yeah, Paps?”

“...is...what we did...wrong?”

Silence hung in the air for the longest time before Sans let out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “...I'm the last person in th' damn Underground who should be makin' a morality call like that...” he replied, his hand dropping to his side tiredly. “...th' last person at ALL...as long as I've felt this way.”

There was another long moment of silence before there was a shifting next to him and the feeling of a hand resting over his own. He flicked his eyelights to the side, seeing Papyrus's cheekbones burning a golden-orange color.

“...I've...had feelings like that too...” Papyrus confessed. “...but...I didn't know if...I mean....what would everyone think—“

“Fuck them,” Sans hissed, his jaw tightening. He turned his hand palm-up to hold Papyrus's tightly. “I've had enough of people judging us just because of who our father was. I won't let you be shamed, Papyrus. And after the shit we've had to deal with...” His hand clenched around Papyrus's tighter. “...I think we can afford to be selfish if we want.”

Papyrus was silent for what seemed like hours before he turned over and loomed over Sans, a flush returning to his bones and his pheromone-heavy scent growing heavy once more. “...I think I want to be selfish,” he said.

Sans reached up without a word and pulled Papyrus's head down, pressing their teeth together.

He could afford a little selfishness too.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't just Papyrus's heat that they became intimate. Granted it was a fine introduction into their relationship, but Sans had doubts that Papyrus would want to continue something like this when his mind was cleared of heat pheromones. Those doubts were smothered in the weeks that came after.

So it was a thing, he thought as his brother put the television on mute and initiated a kiss between them. They had this now. They were in a relationship with each other and it seemed to be WORKING, damn the repercussions.

Sometimes though, Sans DID feel damned in a way. He was the older brother. He was supposed to be the guide of morality and life experience. But any sense of wrongness he SHOULD have was nonexistent when he was thinking of his brother or being with him. It felt RIGHT. His soul fluttered when Papyrus was with him, and every bone in his frame was set alight at his brother's touch.

He didn't just take it at face value. He tried to rationalize, to find some reason to end it before it became something detrimental...but he couldn't. He loved Papyrus. He loved his brother.

That, he knew, could never be rationalized or disputed.

* * *

 

There was a downside to having such a close relationship...most of which when they had whole days apart from one another.

Sans went from being a lab assistant to attaining full Royal Scientist status, something that came with twice the work, twice the terrorization from Undyne, and twice number of sleepless nights he spent at the labs doing his work.

Luckily—debatable, really—for the length of separation time, Papyrus was reaching for a promotion of his own—Captain of the Royal Guard.

Sans's jaw had dropped when he heard the news, although he shouldn't have been surprised. Everyone expected it of Papyrus, and even PAPYRUS expected it of himself. The proper grievance time had passed and now it was to be a bloodbath in filling the position. There were several challenges and spars candidates had to complete before the Monarchy, and now Papyrus was going to be a part of it.

Sans paid enough attention to his father's tales, back when he felt he had a chance at making him proud in the Guard; becoming Captain back THEN had simply meant you were the best and had the support and respect of the other members of the Guard. When the Captain before him had been slain, the King called for someone who could stand the test of ANYTHING to replace him and boost morale for the rest.

And thus Slayer of 10,000 Humans was made Captain, having completed tasks of espionage, battle, and skirmishes to have the unanimous vote of EVERYONE. Being that THOSE tasks were no longer an option, other tasks had been put into play for the event of Captain Gaster stepping down, or dusting.

Papyrus was going to be participating in battles against others clamoring for the title, going undercover in the anarchy rings, and needing a majority vote from the rest of the Guard that WASN'T up for the task.

And Sans was scared.

He kept his attentions on the competition; so far, there were five in the running, including his brother. All of them, in his honest opinion, had equal chances considering their strengths and abilities. But the battle against one another was the last task, if not the one Sans was least worried about.

And he was proven right.

His soul pounded in his rib cage when he received a call from the Royal Guard's healing center with word that his brother had been injured on one of his mission tasks, and it continued to pound as he raced to the Capitol to be with his brother. And oh gods, the damage...

“He has the devil's luck,” the healer told him, her expression serious as she looked over her notes on the matter before handing it to Sans. “He'll need time to recover if he even wants to go back to regular Guard work...but this is the end of his Captain run.” She turned and left the room, leaving Sans with his brother in privacy.

Sans numbly sat down and stared at the paper.

_Close-range explosion attack_

_Rib cage collapse_

_Detatched ribs_

It was enough to make Sans vomit just looking at the paper, let alone the actual injury. Papyrus's rib cage had nearly been destroyed entirely; only some quick help and having all of his rib pieces located for reattachment had saved him. Sans could see the harsh outline of the breaks, still glowing with healing magic that would mend them back together. Sans could tell just by looking, however, that this was going to scar for life.

It was all Sans could do to not cry as he watched over his brother, all in silence that seemed too heavy for words. He was left with his thoughts for hours until the healing was enough for Papyrus to wake up. Sans remained silent as the healer checked Papyrus over and had him perform a few basic reflex and reaction tests to make sure his magic flow wasn't disrupted, and then headed out to get him set up for a recovery room and some food.

Papyrus laid back on the bed, completely disregarding his bared rib cage that was still faintly aglow with healing magic and not acknowledging his brother. Sans's hands clenched tightly, making the acknowledgment for him.

“.......I want you to come home, Paps,” he said. “...it's over now.”

Papyrus's jaw tightened. “I'm healing fine, Sans,” he replied. “I can be back out there in a week tops...four days minimum—“

“NO.” Sans glowered at Papyrus, his eyelights glowing. “NO, Papyrus. Enough is enough.” His eyelights flickered to Papyrus's chest, lingering on the scarred bones. “Look at what this damn job is doing to you. You're not ready for this. You're not....I.....” His shoulders slumped. “...I can't stand seeing you like this. Enough.” His expression went weary and desperate. “...Come home.”

Papyrus's hands clenched into fists, his own expression going hard. “...how can you say that?” he hissed, his eye sockets dampening. “...first I'm wasting my potential, and now I don't have ENOUGH of it?” He turned his skull from Sans, staring at the wall. “...I'm going to heal, Sans. And I'm going to win this.”

“You're not going to win anything at this rate!” Sans snapped. “Papyrus, you're still young, and there will be chances to make Captain in the future! You don't have to do this for Dad or for ANYONE—“

“WHAT IF I WANT TO DO IT FOR ME, SANS!?” Papyrus shouted, slamming his fist into the mattress next to him. “What if I actually have ambition to do something for MYSELF for once instead of something for Dad....or for YOU?” He unclenched his fist, running his hand over his face. “I can do this,” he said darkly. “I WILL do this.”

Sans shook his head. “You're hurt, bro,” he said, grasping at straws and well aware of the fact. “...and I know it's a pride thing, but pride means shit if you're dust.” He wiped at his eye sockets. “...Come back to sentry work, at least for a little while—“

“NO!” Papyrus sat up, his eyelights flaring, disregarding the pain that shot through his bones. “I'M FINISHING THIS, WIN OR LOSE! LET IT GO, SANS!”

“I'M NOT LETTING YOU GO!” Sans shot back, jumping to his feet. “YOU'RE NOT DOING THIS, PAPYRUS! I REFUSE TO LOSE YOU TO THIS!”

“YOU CAN'T CONTROL WHAT I DO!” Papyrus screamed. “I'M A GROWN ADULT SKELETON, SANS, AND YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN OR CANNOT DO IN MY LIFE!”

“I'M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU, YOU FUCKING JERK!” Sans clenched his fists to his sides, tears pouring from his eye socket. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU, PAPYRUS, AND I WILL BE DAMNED BEFORE YOU STEP OUT THAT DOOR AND I HAVE TO WATCH ANOTHER URN OF DUST BE SPREAD OVER THIS GODDAMN HELLHOLE! STOP BEING A FUCKING BRAT ABOUT THIS AND COME THE FUCK HOME—!”

He had no warning—only a searing pain over his left eye socket as Papyrus's fist met with his skull, sending him crashing to the floor.

Moments later a few healers rushed in, having heard the screaming match, and saw Sans on the floor with his hand over his left eye socket and Papyrus's outstretched fist, a look of horror on his face. Anything they might have said was cut off by the sharp look Papyrus gave them, sending them right back out with the door shut behind them.

Sans laid out on his side, shaking violently as he tried to process the pain he was in, feeling his HP hit the decimals but thankfully not go to zero. He didn't even have to look to know that he had a crack, feeling the marrow drip between his fingers and pool on the floor, mixing with his tears.

He didn't know how long he was on the floor before he was aware that Papyrus had crawled off the bed and joined him on the floor. Papyrus cocooned himself around his smaller brother, holding him tightly with all the protection he could offer with his own single-digits HP.

Three days ago, they were in this exact position, curled up with all the love and comfort two lovers could have.

How had it come to this?

* * *

 

It took a few days before either felt ready to go out and get their lives back on track. Sans's HP was back at a full one and Papyrus's was almost at its maximum, both healed albeit scarred.

Sans felt the eyes of everyone on him everywhere he went, all honed in on the scar crack that spread from the top of his left eye socket. There wasn't even any way to play it off; the mouthy healers began the rumor mill and now half the Capitol now knew that he had been scarred by his little brother.

He didn't make excuses, not for himself, or for Papyrus. Things had been said, feelings had been hurt, and they both stayed in that hospital room until they were healed. Sans went back to the labs and Papyrus went back to the Guard.

They both weren't able to go home for days, and Sans refused to hear any more Guard news; his soul couldn't take it. He just couldn't take it anymore if his brother was hurt after all this, and it was all he could do to stave off the cold hand of falling down from the stress alone.

He went home after days of distraction work in the labs, took a shower he desperately needed, and didn't bother putting on clothes before crashing out on his bed, hugging his pillow and wishing it was his brother there with him instead.

A heavy weight over his side was what he woke to some time later, opening his eye sockets and seeing his brother laying out next to him, an arm slung over him loosely from having to avoid waking him. Papyrus's bones were bruised and grimy with a few new scrapes over them, but he was THERE. He was alive. In desperate need of a shower, but alive. Sans's eye sockets brimmed with tears, reaching up and touching his brother's skull, his phalanges lingering on a bruise on the younger's cheekbone as he willed out his magic to heal it.

Papyrus blinked awake, his eyelights hazy and exhausted but held a spark of affection as he leaned into Sans's hand. “...I'm home,” he said quietly. Sans nodded, giving him a soft smile.

“....yeah, you are,” he replied. “...for how long?”

Papyrus reached up, resting his hand over Sans's and guiding it to his teeth for a kiss. “...until I'm summoned to the palace for my promotion banquet,” he replied. “...I earned Captain.”

Sans blinked hard, the tears not stopping as he struggled between pride and fear, giving his brother a braver, supportive smile. “....I'm....so proud of you...” he choked out, leaning into Papyrus and hugging him tightly. “...I.....I'm proud.......I really am, I...” He trailed off, unable to say more.

Papyrus curled his arms around Sans, holding him tightly. “...yeah...” he replied quietly. “...but I don't have to go until the end of the week.” He kissed the top of Sans's skull. “...I want to stay home until then.”

Sans sniffled softly, resting his skull against his brother's sternum, closing his eye sockets as he tightened his arms around his brother possessively, intending on keeping his brother there for as long as he could.

“...it's good to have you home, bro.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and so it begins.


End file.
